No, staying here alone couldn’t possibly be a viable option for her.
She was reluctant to turn to her parents. Had they disowned her indefinitely? She and Gil had stirred up a considerable scandal last spring. And before that, Gil hadn’t exactly cultivated a reputation any father would want for his daughter’s husband.
In an unexpected surge of sorrow, Luke’s lungs tightened. He and Gil had sowed their fair share of wild oats together. It seemed impossible that he was gone. They’d had a few disagreements in the more recent past but all friends were at odds with one another from time to time.
If only Luke had done a second recon. Or taken the longer route around. Why hadn’t Gil simply sold off his commission after he married?
He had a wife. And a baby on the way.
A woman who’d loved him.
By the time she and her maid returned, each carrying a tray, Lucas had decided he would remain in the area until he’d ensured her situation to be stable. This afternoon, he could send off a few letters of inquiry. He’d request that Blackheart meet with Gil’s older brother, Tempest, personally. If anyone could convince him to take responsibility for his newly widowed sister-in-law and future grandchild, Blackheart could.
“It’s only toast and eggs.” Her apologetic glance stole his breath for an instant. He was a damned miserable person to even consider thinking of her… He drew his imagination to a screeching halt.
“I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
The maid had set the tray on a low table and dragged it closer to his chair while Naomi poured tea.
Despite feeling more than a little awkward, he took his time purposely. She barely nibbled on her own toast but did manage a few bites of the eggs.
Grief rolled off her in waves and yet she sat with her shoulders back, her knees together, and when she was finished eating, folded her hands in her lap. And again, he found himself thinking that Naomi Gilcrest was perhaps underestimated. People would be distracted by her fragile appearance.
She’d entranced Luke when he’d first met her last spring.
But she’d fallen for Gil.
Luke couldn’t help but think her beauty, which had captured him last spring beneath glowing chandeliers in elegant ballrooms, was even more apparent sitting in this dull little parlor. Her golden-blond hair was tied back into a simple chignon, several strands having escaped to gently caress her cheeks. And the gown she wore, an unpretentious day dress, complemented her curves, accentuating all of her womanhood.
Luke ignored the voice in his head that found fault with Gil for the circumstances he’d abandoned his wife to. Gil wasn’t here to defend himself. Everyone made mistakes, and Gil had, of course, done his best to take care of her.
He’d simply run out of time.
“Will you be in England for long, Major?” Her question brought him back to his own troubles.
This was something Luke wasn’t prepared to discuss. He needed to meet with his commanders first. He had decisions to make. And then, of course, he would need to speak with Blackheart.
“I haven’t yet determined that.”
“You went to school with… Arthur.” The fact that she would attempt to make normal conversation with him, especially after the grief he’d brought to her doorstep yesterday, illustrated that she had been raised to be dignified no matter the cost.
“As did my Brother and Gil’s. We have all been friends for as long as I can remember.”
Luke had danced with this woman last spring. He’d rowed her across a small pond and delighted at her teasing. He’d flirted with her.
How very different both of them were now. “We all attended Eton together. Damned Gil.” Luke smiled at the memory. “He led us into trouble more times than not. Made it his personal mission to ensure I never got too caught up in my studies. The blighter was always ready with some prank or another. Pardon my language, Mrs. Gilcrest.” Gil had nearly gotten the two of them expelled on one occasion.
Luke stared unseeing at the floor. He and Gil had grown apart after entering the army though. Especially after Luke’s last promotion, placing him just above Gil in the protocol of hierarchy.
“I wish I’d had more time with him.”
He glanced up in time to see two tiny lines appear between her eyes.
Luke swallowed, and his throat suddenly felt thicker than normal. “Gil spoke of you. The night before... He was anxious to return to you.” Had Gil been anxious to return to her? Of course, he had been. And because she looked lost and vulnerable sitting in the darkened room, Luke added, “He loved you very much.”
That earned him a watery attempt at a smile. “Thank you. Our…” she blinked, “courtship was not ideal, by any definition of the word. But I… I loved him.” Her voice broke.
Luke bit into the piece of toast he’d nearly finished and chewed slowly, allowing her a moment to regain her composure. With his plate cleaned, he rubbed his hands along his thighs, knowing he had likely worn out his welcome.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you need right now?”
Pearly white teeth worried her bottom lip. Luke sensed she was warring with her own pride. “I’m fine but thank you. It was kind of you to look in on me before you left. You have lost a good friend as well.”
It was not the answer he wanted, but could hardly force his assistance on her if she didn’t want it.
Luke rose. This time, when he bowed, he took hold of her hand. “I’ll be at the posting inn until tomorrow morning. Will you send word, then, if you think of anything?”
She nodded. He doubted he’d have much reason to speak with her alone anytime in the future. She was going to be a mother. And she was a widow now.
She would not ask him for anything. She rose as well and Luke allowed her to lead him out the front door. The floorboards of the porch creaked beneath his weight.
The storm that had been threatening was nearly here now, with small sprinkles beginning to fall. For the second time, he noticed that the color of the hovering clouds was the exact blue-gray of her eyes.
“I will take my leave but not say goodbye.” He removed a piece of paper he’d written out the night before. “This is my direction. If I cannot be reached personally, my brother will provide for any need that arises.”
She stuffed the paper into an apron pocket without reading it. Her pride. So much pride.
“Thank you again, Major. You have been most kind.”
He flicked his gaze around the property and then, turning one last time to face the widow of a man he’d once considered his best friend, bowed. “Please. I beg of you to send word if you have need of anything.”
She grimaced at that.
And at her nod, he took his leave.
Chapter Three
Naomi stood on the porch long after Major Cockfield had ridden away. Her limbs felt heavy and the slightest task, such as getting dressed, making tea, or forcing her feet to carry her back into the house, seemed to require tremendous thought and effort.
It was easier simply not to move. If she didn’t move, then she didn’t have to feel, and if she didn’t feel then she didn’t have to think. All of which made no sense at all because she couldn’t summon the energy to make her brain function properly.
Lord Major Lucas Cockfield had gone above and beyond the call of duty when he’d come to inform her about Gil… Now that he was gone, his part was over. She realized that at some point, she was going to have to face the future.
But for now, she didn’t want to think into the next minute—the next hour.
Because she faced it alone.
“He seems an honorable sort.”
Naomi glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized Ester had joined her outside. When Gil had insisted she hire someone to help her, she’d initially resisted. But now…
Now.
Ester was all she had.
Naomi touched her little bump. Until the baby was born, anyhow. Which summoned an entirely differ
ent set of fears.
“Looks like rain.” She sighed.
Naomi was going to have to raise her and Arthur’s child alone. Her husband was never coming home to do it with her.
How dare he die? How dare he leave her alone?
She blinked away fresh tears that threatened. Her eyes ached already from all her weeping.
How had she ended up so alone? Even her mother wouldn’t be here to help her. And it was no one’s fault but her own.
Her father had forbidden her from associating with Arthur. He and her mother had been convinced by rumors and speculation that Arthur wasn’t an honorable gentleman.
Oh, but he had been. He’d spoken of marriage to her even before she’d informed him of her condition. He would have met with her father if only…
She would not regret lying with him that one time before they were married. To regret that would be to regret the life growing inside of her. If not for this child, she would have nothing of him.
And how could she regret the most romantic memory of her life? The carriage ride to the country, the picnic. The compliments Arthur had showered on her, the flirtatious smiles, the secret assignations.
Arthur had been an expert at wooing her.
“Gah!” She swiped her arm at the tears streaming down her cheeks.
A gust of wind had her hugging herself as she watched a small vortex of debris blow into her garden.
“Come inside, Missus.” Ester opened the door. “You don’t want to catch a chill. It’s not good for the baby.”
And reminding Naomi of that was the best strategy anyone could use.
It reminded her that, like it or not, she was going to have to address all of these problems facing her. Not for herself, but for their child. She was a grown woman, no longer dependent upon her mother and father. Arthur had counted on her.
A frisson of panic sliced through her grief.
The handful of notes he’d pressed into her hand after kissing her goodbye was all but gone. She’d not been a spendthrift with the money but neither had she been overly frugal. Naomi had never in her life had to worry about funds. Arthur had assured her she would begin receiving a portion of his officer’s pay in no time at all.
Her recent purchases at Mr. Clopwell’s Store, however, had been made on credit and the balance of her account was becoming not insignificant.
In the few months since he’d gone, no monies had arrived—not a single pound. The inkling of fear she’d had when nothing had come the first month was becoming a torrent of worry. And fretting about something so worldly as coin right now made her feel selfish and guilty.
Because he’d died.
Her husband had gone and died on her.
She stepped inside and glanced around the parlor, quiet now that her guest had left.
It should not have been Major Cockfield sitting in the chair taking breakfast with her. It should have been Arthur.
Her gaze landed on a vase sitting atop the mantle of the fireplace. It was empty. She’d thrown out the flowers after they wilted and died.
Why had she thrown them out? She should have pressed them and now…
She would never have those flowers again! They’d been an apology, of sorts, for failing to return from the village one night.
He would never bring her flowers again.
Naomi had barely made it into her bedchamber and thrown herself onto the bed they’d shared before more sobs escaped. She wanted her husband back. The man she’d vowed to love forever. He was supposed to come home and protect her.
As morning turned to afternoon, and then evening, she only rose from her bed once, to pull one of his shirts out of the wardrobe.
She’d comforted herself with his scent. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend he wasn’t gone.
For the remainder of the day, she lay curled up in their bed.
Ester had peered in to check on her, but Naomi feigned sleep. She would eat later. She was so tired. As the storm arrived and drizzled on and off for the rest of the day, so too, did her consciousness.
Even the leak above the window wasn’t enough to rouse her. She was so tired. Tired and alone.
* * *
Upon riding away from Milton Cottage a second time, Luke rode toward the Inn feeling conflicted. It wasn’t right, that she should be alone right now.
Mrs. Gilcrest was an adult and it wasn’t as though she’d given any indication his help was needed, or would even be tolerated, but he’d seen the condition of the house.
The porch was a hazard. One wrong step and she could tumble through the floor, breaking an ankle or worse…
He leaned forward, urging The General to increase their pace as the rain began to fall in sheets.
What additional items needed repair to ensure she could live there safely? Were there other floorboards that needed to be replaced? What of the roof? And the windows? He ought to have done an inspection while he was there.
Even after unsaddling, brushing and putting The General up in the stable himself, other questions plagued him. Did she have a groom in her small stable? Did she even have a conveyance for travel?
Uncertainties persisted as he ducked in from the rain and brushed the water off his jacket. When a smiling barmaid approached and offered him ale, he declined politely, and despite her pouting protest, climbed the stairs to the room he’d lain awake in for most of the night. After removing his jacket, which had been soaked through, he opened the pack for his change of clothing and his heart dropped.
How had he forgotten about the satchel, empty but for a few paltry items Gil had left behind?
Luke withdrew the small canvas pack, and then, staring out the window at the now driving rain, came to a decision. It would seem Mrs. Gilcrest had not yet seen the last of him.
He changed into dry clothing, opened his valise, and located the items he’d require for his tasks.
His first missive was intended for the War Office. If Naomi Gilcrest truly was as alone as he suspected, it would be vital that she received Gil’s pension. The pension could not be sent to her unless the cogs of the military knew of her whereabouts.
And her existence. Gil had often been casual about filing reports. Luke hoped his friend hadn’t treated this administrative requirement as lightly.
The second letter was addressed to his brother. Blackheart would have heard that Luke was on leave and he and their younger sisters would be expecting him any day. Although Black likely had already been apprised of Gil’s death, Luke nonetheless, relayed the most general of details in his missive. Tempest, Black, Gil, and Luke had been each other’s first chums, after all.
Careful in his wording, Luke explained the circumstances in which Gil had left his wife. There was no need for him to write anything else. Blackheart would read between the lines and take matters into his own hands. After sealing both envelopes, Luke posted them downstairs and arranged to keep the room indefinitely.
And the following morning, for the third day in a row, Luke found himself yet again approaching the poorly maintained house where Gil had planned to make his home with Naomi. Luke had managed a few hours’ sleep and, along with the purpose he’d laid out for himself, felt slightly better than he had for weeks.
She must have heard his horse because, before he was even fifty feet from the house, she burst out the front door and came running down the steps. She was smiling brightly in greeting but then halted suddenly and her shoulders fell.
Ah, hell. She’d seen the uniform and assumed…
Ah, hell.
She raised a hand to shade her eyes, and there was no mistaking the look of not just disappointment but devastation as he drew his horse to a halt.
“Did you forget something, Major?” Her voice sounded defeated. It was possible she’d forever remember him as the bearer of the worst news she’d ever received. He didn’t blame her.
“As a matter of fact.” Luke dismounted. He’d pretend he didn’t know that she’d imagined he was Gil returning home to he
r. He removed the pack he’d forgotten about and then stepped forward to hand it to her.
She hesitated a moment before taking it from him.
“I meant to give it to you before.”
She nodded slowly. “Where is he buried?”
He’d guessed she’d eventually ask for more details. “We couldn’t recover...” He gestured toward the bag. “This is everything.” It was all the insurgents had sent back. They’d kept Gil’s sword, his pistol, and of course, his horse. Luke had inspected the few contents left over to represent a man’s life. Not much but they were some of the last items Gil had touched.
She hugged the bag close. “Thank you.” It was as though today she’d built a barrier around her emotions.
“The thing is, Nao—Mrs. Gilcrest…” Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere until I receive word from the War Office and I’ll be fit for Bedlam without anything productive to do. I’d be grateful if you’d put me to work.”
For the first time since two days ago, the look she sent him wasn’t filled with abject sorrow, resentment, or even polite devastation. For the flash of an instant, he spied a glimmer of the girl he’d met last spring.
“Arthur asked you to look out for me.” Her eyes were sad, but there was also a hint of resigned exasperation in those stormy depths.
“He would have done the same for me.” It was true. Only no one had been waiting for Luke to return, no one who needed him anyhow. “We were like brothers.”
She dipped her chin and her slate-colored gaze perused the land around them. “I know.” And then she sighed. “Arthur has such grand ideas for this cottage… Had. He managed a few repairs before he left, but…” She grimaced and lifted her hand to point at some trim hanging from the porch roof. “He isn’t as skilled a carpenter as we had hoped.”
At this, Luke chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Luckily, he had other valuable skills. He was a master at reading and drawing up maps. Did you know that?”
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